The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [110]
When the women joined them, Salamander noticed that the high priestess and the two Horsekin women greeted Rocca warmly, but the other human forced out a smile that was barely civil. Rocca in turn ignored her and spoke to the others in the Horsekin tongue. All of the women studied him as she spoke.
“Come now,” Lakanza said at last. “There be a need on us to speak in language that our guest can understand.” She glanced at one of the Horsekin women. “Dorag, take those horses to the grooms, then rejoin us among the holy stones. The rest of you, arrange yourself for prayer. It behooves us to bring out the relics of Raena the Holy Witness, she who were the first to give up her life as testimony to Alshandra’s power over death.”
Since Salamander had heard tales of Raena from Dallandra, he wasn’t surprised to find her memory venerated among the Horsekin, though they doubtless would have been horrified to learn that she’d been a shape-changer. Lakanza hurried into the Inner Shrine, while in the Outer the others all knelt in front the massive gray boulder, chiseled and chipped flat. Carved in the center were the goddess’ bow and arrow. Rocca gestured for him to kneel at the head of the crowd, and she knelt beside him. Fortunately for Salamander’s knees, inside the circle grew thick, soft grass. He somehow just knew that a good long session of prayers lay ahead of him.
Lakanza returned, carrying a burnished copper tray. Placed as he was, Salamander had a good view of the altar. He studied the relics as the high priestess laid her tray and its burdens down: a miniature bow and arrow made of gold and copper, a wooden box with a lid inlaid with gold spirals, and a strange bone flute or whistle. It seemed to be made of two fingerbones glued together, but he could see that each bone was far too long to have belonged to either a human being or one of the Westfolk. Strangest of all, though, was the last relic, a black crystal in the shape of a truncated pyramid. Salamander knew immediately that he’d seen it before, but he couldn’t remember where.
Lakanza raised her arms, said a few words in the Horsekin tongue, then began praying in Deverrian. Salamander risked a few glances around and noticed the other human priestess watching him. Her ancestors, immediate or otherwise, must have come from Eldidd, he realized. Though her eyes were an ordinary cornflower blue, they were strangely round, making him think of a bird’s eyes, under arched brows. She wore her hair, shiny blue-black like a raven’s wing, bound back with a twist of thin rope. Her painted leather dress hung straight to feet that were, like Rocca’s, a mass of scar tissue and swellings.
When the prayers were over, and everyone had risen to their feet, this priestess went up to the altar, curtsied in front of it, and picked up the narrow wooden box. She stepped forward, bobbed her head to the high priestess, then turned to Rocca.
“This fellow,” she said. “And for how long have you known him, Rocca, that you bring him here so boldly?”
“Long enough,” Rocca snapped. “I do feel the sincerity of his heart.”
“There be a need on me for a bit more evidence than that. I like not his pretty face, and I think me it did sway your judgment.”
“Oh, hold your tongue, Sidro!” Rocca set her hands on her hips. “We all know you do try to humiliate me at every turn, and I say your words now be just one more case of it.”
“There be reason to listen to my words.” Sidro hefted the box. “This man stinks of danger.”
“Hah! You do see mating everywhere, that be your trouble. It be no wonder that your lover did cast you off.”
Sidro’s face drained white, then turned red in rage. Lakanza raised both hands and stepped between them.
“Hush!” the priestess said. “Such nastiness among ourselves ill reflects upon our goddess!”
“You be right, Your Holiness,” Rocca said. “Sidro, my sister in Alshandra, I did speak wrongly. I apologize.”
Sidro said